Lead The Way
by humanManure
Summary: "A young elvish lad lays unconscious on the cell floor. The markings on his face are that of June, the Vallaslin of the craft-master. It is clear to all but a blind man that the marking on his left hand corresponds to the tear in the sky." A story that follows my inquisitor Duinior Lavellan as he leads the Inquisition.


**Notes:**

 **A story about my Inquistor: Duinior Lavellan. Some things may divert from the storyline of Dragon Age Inquisition. I apologise if any of the characters are ooc.**

 **I hope you enjoy my first attempt at a dragon age fanfiction! Comments and constructive criticism appreciated!**

 _ **Disclaimer: Dragon Age Inquisition and all its contents belong to Bioware.**_

* * *

A young elvish lad lays unconscious on the cell floor. The markings on his face are that of June, the Vallaslin of the craft-master. The tattoos black on his olive skin. His eyebrows almost blending with his markings, black and thin. Auburn hair rests atop his head in a short mess. It is clear to all but a blind man that the marking on his left hand corresponds to the tear in the sky. Though one thing was clear. Should it be the tossing in pain as he sleeps, or the painful cries from his throat that tips you to this conclusion. He is dying, and it has something to do with the mark.

0000000000

Duinior's mind is in a haze, a dull green seems to reside behind his eyelids. He hopes its not permanent. A raw throbbing from both his head and his left hand prevent any comfort the stone floor he lies on might have given him. He would inspect the source of his pain, but they are behind his back.

Looking around his confinement, he has an inkling of his whereabouts. Judging by the bars and the sword-wielding guards he assumes it's a prison of sorts. What can I say? You've seen one you've seen them all. Being an elf you wouldn't be surprised if he was detained on no basis whatsoever. That is, he is a half-elf. The genes were a little stronger on his mothers side and he's called knife-ear like any other elf.

He tries to wrap his head around the situation. 'What did I drink to forget to keep away from shems? Idiot! Look where you've ended up!' His thoughts on the situation are bitter and critical of his own supposed stupidity. How could he have gotten captured? He tries his best to stay clear of shems and their bad sides. What frustrated him most about his situation was not that he was there, but rather he can't find out how he got there.

"They are awake? Move aside." As if to answer his questions a woman of fierce demeanour and characteristics bursts through the door. She's followed by a menacing, red-headed figure, none less intimidating. "Now that you're concious you can answer my questions." She jerks me Duinior from his resting place and onto his knees. She takes to standing a few paces in front of him. Looking up at her sent a slight rush to his head. He must have been lying there for a while for the blood to have pooled in his head. The lady has strong cheek-bones, short-black hair, and a frown that means business .

"I was hoping you could answer a few of my own questions; where am I, What did I do? And last of all, is the crime within my budget?" An upper-cut to the jaw sends him to the floor, justly earned. Few take to his sense of humour, even without the recent events.

"You think this is funny? The conclave destroyed, many are dead, and only to you seem to have avoided everyone else's fate! Does this strike you as a joking matter?"

"What are you talking about? Honestly lady, can't I just pay for the things I stole or whatever it was I did and get back to sanity? And a good healer?" His attitude was relevant in his tone. Confused and in pain, tact wasn't on his mind. He spits a wad of blood onto Cassandra's feet, no concerns that she could punch again. She packed quite the punch, for someone who had no reason to do so. You don't think I would want to give her a reason.

"You really don't know." Her words came out more as a statement than a question. Just as Duinior was going to remark 'no duh' a surge of pain resonated from his hand. He lurches to the side in pain. The veins in his arm feel as though they run rust, rather than blood. All he can manage in terms of cries for help is a pathetic spluttering. Hacking up his lungs in a fit.

"They are becoming more frequent, if we are going to do something about this it has to be now Cassandra." The hooded red-head steps out from the shadows. She looks like a person whom collected in both her thoughts and her stature.

"Leliana. You are right." Cassandra turns to face Duinior. From his position on the ground there is nothing much he can do when she hoists him to my feet. Untying his hands from behind him only to have them secured again at my front. The one who tied his hands before was merciful, for Cassandra has surely cut off all circulation. Duinior looks down at his wrists, a green ribbon curls around his wrist from his palm.

"What?" He mutters; curious and uneasy to what it is. Twisting his arm within his ability he sees a mark on his hand. This unwanted snake constricts his once clear skin with a pale green, looking like lightning on dark skies. A surge of pain hits the area and through pained eyes he sees the mark crawl up his arm. "What is this? What did you do to me!" His thoughts begin to jump about. 'What if this was a torture devise? made to get me talking'. Fear strikes his heart and widens his eyes. "If you want answers, I don't have any so please get this thing off me!"

"We can't."

"What do you mean you can't? Please!" He attempt to yank his hands free from their bindings. When that fails he scratches viscously at the mark.

"We did not do this to you, we believe it's self inflicted." She sounded dejected, almost pitying. Looking up from his nightmare to meet her set scowl, her brows furrowed in frustration. Her interrogation isn't turning up much information.

"Why the flying nug would I do something like this to myself!"

"We don't think it was your intention, rather the result of something going awry." Realising she knows just as much as he does, he steadies his breathing. He takes his time observing as much as himself as he can. His mercenary jacket removed and no where to in sight, for the purpose of studying the mark. He looks for visible damage, beside the glow-y thing that is. There are prominent bruises and blood stains. Not all his own. It makes him feel faint. 'What happened? My memory banks fail me from recent memories to some holes in my past. What was my mother's name?' He brings his eyes to meet hers.

"Help me." This is not something he can handle on his own.

0000000000

"To help you, you need to help me." He is escorted by Cassandra out from a chantry's underbelly. 'I wonder if all places of worship have a torture chamber? Oh wait, they do. They're called circles.' He lets out a mental sigh of relief. All they found in his possesion was one of his iron daggers. The other 'lost' in some corrupt merchants chest. If he had his staff on him at the time, the outcome may have been different.

They reach the entrance of the chantry, Cassandra's hand rests on the door-handle. "To explain the situation would be fruitless, for you would not believe me. So showing you is the best, if not only option."  
The door creaks the way you expect an old door to. It fills Duinior with adrenaline, he could run, find a good healer. Granted he may be faced with a few obstacles in his escape, but the guards didn't even help Cassandra escort me. He musn't be such a priority, right? The first crack of light spills into the room and he prepares to sprint. His vision focuses on the bright outdoors. He can't move. An abyss swallows the sky the way the mark swallows his palm. He forgets how to breathe momentarily. He now sees why he is suspect to this, whatever it is. They are almost identical in appearance.

He steps onto the snow, hesitant, thinking that he would fall into the sky. 'Now I know how dwarves feel'.  
"We call it the breach. It's a massive rift into the world of demons which grows larger with each passing hour." A pulse ripples the sky and his hand on cue. His knees buckle at the pain and he fall into the snow.

"The explosion at the conclave opened this one, any many others. This being the largest. We still know very little about its origins or why it's here, but we do know it's killing you." Duinior look up from the snow struggling to comprehend. 'It's killing you' repeats over and over in his mind. Words hitch in his throat. Feeling like he has shown enough weakness already, he braves a smile.

"And the good news?"

"We believe you are the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time." There's a moments pause before he picks himself up from the snow.

"Lead the way."


End file.
